


It's a Rich Man's World

by derryderrydown



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sid strips to finance his hockey habit. Geno attempts to tip with hockey gear. Somehow, they make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Rich Man's World

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to Lizard and Stepquietly for audiencing on this, and to Solarcat for American-checking!
> 
> More thanks to Stepquietly for the art!

Geno's cousin's wife's uncle's friend was in town, and his mother used the full power of her disapproval to make Geno take the guy out and show him Pittsburgh.

"I don't know it that well," Geno had said, and his mother made a noise so judgmental that Geno involuntarily shrank away from the telephone.

"You've lived there for four years, Zhenya. Just take the man for a nice meal, take him to a nice bar, maybe get him tickets for a game, hmm?"

The nice bar had been four bars back, where Arkady had met Yulia, Vasili and Rosa, and now Geno was reluctantly following the group into what he was pretty sure was a strip club.

When his mother found out, she'd flay him alive. But she'd be even more vicious if he skulked off home and let Arkady go in alone.

At least there were men _and_ women stripping, he thought, as he looked around for long enough to get his bearings amidst the flashing lights, mirrors, pounding music, and naked flesh. Perhaps his mother wouldn't be quite so mad? More likely, she'd be doubly mad.

"Down here!" Yulia yelled in his ear. "There's a guy always comes on at quarter past midnight and he's _amazing_. You'll love him!"

And then he was being dragged towards a smaller stage in the corner of the club and pushed into a chair that was uncomfortably yielding and felt disturbingly damp. Thank god he hadn't worn a good suit, Geno thought, as Yulia perched on his knee.

"He's the best thing about this place," Yulia told him, talking slightly quieter now they were so close. "Wait and see."

"Sure," Geno said, and patted her thigh, intrigued despite himself by the way her skirt was riding up and showing a millimetre more flesh with every movement.

"He's here!" Yulia said, and shoved his hand away, leaving him with nothing to do but look up and-

The guy stomping onto the stage was in full hockey gear, complete with skates and a couple of sticks.

Geno nearly laughed out loud before he got a closer look at the way the sticks were carefully and precisely taped, even though the tape was damp and fraying. They were well cared for and well used.

The jersey was blue and yellow, a stylised wolf on the front. Geno thought he'd seen it before, possibly a jersey for a beer league team here in town, but it was another pointer towards this guy actually playing. If it was just for show, he'd be wearing a Pens jersey. Maybe even Geno's own, he thought, as the guy turned around to show 'Crosby 87' on his back.

He didn't move as if he was aware of the crowd. He moved like any other hockey player stripping off after a game. Or rather, stripping off after a victory, Geno thought critically. Your gear weighed more after a loss, and this guy - Crosby? - was moving pretty lightly.

There was no obvious teasing even as he unsnapped his helmet and laid it on the mocked-up stall that had appeared on stage behind him, but there was something sensual in the way he ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair, tousled it into sticking-up curls, and then tried, unsuccessfully, to smooth it down again.

He pulled his jersey over his head, undoing what little success he'd had in flattening his hair, and hung it carefully in the stall. His pads were even more well-used than his stick - Geno could smell them from here - and something about the way they sat made Geno think they were too small. Crosby had bulked up since he'd bought them, and either hadn't bothered to replace them or hadn't been able to afford it. Judging by the way his sticks were cared for, Geno would put money on replacements being out of his budget.

He was easing the pads off, now. There was still no obvious pandering to the audience, but there was an understated awareness in his movements, in the slow unpeeling of velcro and the roll of aching shoulders and the way he stretched after the pads were off, reaching up high enough that he was nearly knocking the ceiling.

The pants were next, dropped with no apparent ceremony, but still making Yulia shift slightly in Geno's lap and bite her lower lip. Geno understood the impulse.

Crosby finally sat down, the 'stall' shuddering under his weight, and he frowned briefly in concern, before smoothing his face back to careful blankness. The slip was a moment of searing honesty, and Geno realised he was biting his own lower lip.

Crosby leaned forward to unlace his skates, the movement showing off the way his undershirt clung to his solidly-muscled arms and shoulders. Once the skates were kicked off, he turned his attention to his socks and-

Geno had never considered hockey garters sexy, but he could be persuaded by the way Crosby was carefully unsnapping his socks, legs stretched out in front of him while he twisted enough at the waist to just hint at the curve of his ass. When he stripped off his pads, he revealed legs with the same solid muscling as his arms - powerful thighs leading to well-defined calves, tapering to the inevitable skinny hockey-player ankles. Geno licked his lips and shifted slightly in his seat.

That was when Crosby stood up to reveal what was perhaps the only new bit of his gear - a gleaming white cup that stood out sharply against his black undergear, the lines of the straps cradling his generous ass in a way that was more obscene than mere nudity.

Yulia sighed something happy at the sight, and Geno could have easily echoed it as Crosby wriggled out of the cup and hung it up with his jersey.

His undergear was close-fitting, of course, but the sweat hugged it even closer to his skin, and Crosby demonstrated just how close with a series of bends and stretches that genuinely would help him cool down over-taxed muscles but, in a thoroughly planned coincidence, were also so hot that Yulia's hand was tight on the back of Geno's neck.

Fair enough, he thought. His own hands were curled into his thighs as he imagined what it would be like to touch this Crosby guy. He was going to be thinking about this in the locker room tomorrow and it was going to be so fucking awkward, even if Nealsy was no Crosby.

That was the point when Crosby peeled off his undershirt.

Geno's first thought was that Crosby was built like a fucking tank. He wasn't especially tall, but there was a breadth to his shoulders and across his chest that became even more evident when shown in winter-pale skin instead of stretched black fabric.

His second thought was that he'd been right about Crosby's pads being too small. There was a faint outline of bruising where they sat, the kind of bruise that was ground into the skin day after day, and Geno wondered if it was possible to tip a stripper with hockey gear. He had plenty lying around from sponsors that he was sure would fit better than what Crosby was wearing.

But then he was distracted from such altruistic thoughts by Crosby turning his back to the audience and, well.

"Hockey butt is a glorious thing," Yulia sighed, and Geno couldn't disagree.

Especially when Crosby slid his thumbs into the waistband of his undergear, and stood there, adjusting his grip and his stance for just long enough to make sure he had everybody's attention.

And then, a sudden sharp movement as he pulled his pants down.

Geno had a second to appreciate the view - the pale, perfect muscle; the explosive power and sheer fucking _strength_ it promised - before the lights went out.

"No!" Yulia complained. "Put the lights back on!"

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Geno could make out Crosby pulling his pants back up, stacking his discarded gear on the 'stall' and wheeling it off-stage. By the time the lights came back up, it was as though he'd never been there.

"Want to come back to my place?" Geno asked Yulia.

"Oh, hell, yes," Yulia said, and grinned. "But I might not be thinking of you."

Geno could have said the same, but he didn't. "Come on, then," he said. Arkady could find his own way home.

* * *

The fact that Geno came from a steel town was apparently enough to make him the top choice when a local steel mill needed a celebrity to open... something. Geno wasn't quite sure what it was, even after an enthusiastic manager had walked him around it, explaining in detail.

Geno had stuck to nodding and smiling and trying to look interested. Now he just had to get through the introductions to various staff and he could get away.

"And these are the guys who run our shipping department," the manager was saying. "James Bewsey and Sidney Crosby."

And Sidney Crosby was... Crosby. In a suit and tie instead of hockey gear, but unmistakably Crosby.

Geno blinked, grinned, and stretched his hand out. "Eighty-seven," he said, and watched Crosby's face open up into an answering smile.

"You've seen me play?" he asked eagerly, and Geno froze.

By the time he'd figured out how to lie, it was too late and Crosby looked sick.

"At the club," he said.

"Could tell you played," Geno said, trying to make up for it. "But didn't know shirt?"

"You wouldn't," Crosby said. "The Wolves. We just play in a local league."

"Any good?"

Crosby shrugged. "We're okay."

Bewsey, who had been looking confused, interrupted. "He's lying. The Wolves have thrashed every team in the league since he started playing for them. He should be pro, man, I'm telling you."

"Where you play?" Geno asked. "Maybe I come and see a game?"

"It's really not worth it," Crosby said. "You'd spend your time better going to a Mites or Squirts game." He nodded towards the waiting manager. "I think our boss is waiting for you."

Geno had never been so politely dismissed.

* * *

A few days later, the Wolves were facing the Storm. The Storm were mostly over forty, with a few teenagers brought in to pad the ranks, so Sid wasn't too worried about the Wolves beating them.

Until the whisper went down the bench that _Evgeni fucking Malkin_ was in the stands, and Sid's entire team promptly became too busy trying to work out which of the smattering of spectators was Geno to remember how to play hockey.

After Barry let in two goals in under a minute, and Kyle and Joe managed to skate straight into each other, Sid called a time-out. "Look, the odds on Malkin being here are minimal. Why the hell would an NHL player show up to watch a rec league game?" It was a bit of a coincidence that Malkin's rumoured attendance came so close after him asking about Sid's team, but admitting that would just make his team even more starstruck. "And even if he is here, it should be making you play _better_ , not so bad that I'm embarrassed to be on the ice with you. Get it into gear, guys."

Sid knew he'd never been much good at inspiring speeches, but it seemed to work because they pulled it together enough to skate away with a 6-4 victory.

And then Sid had to go to the club. Although that was, at least, easier after a victory. He took the time to swap out his lucky cup for the new one, shove his feet into his Crocs, and headed for the door.

And Malkin was there. Right outside the locker room, signing autographs and posing for photos.

"You lying fuck," Barry said, looking up from his cellphone screen. "You knew Malkin was going to be here."

"I really didn't," Sid said. "I didn't even tell him the name of the rink."

"I'm good with Google," Malkin said, looking proud of himself. "Easy track you down. I want see if you as good as your friend say."

"Yeah, he is," Barry said.

"I'm not as good as the players you're used to," Sid said, because he might _know_ that he's the best player in both of his leagues, but his mother brought him up with manners.

"You still pretty good," Malkin said, and seemed to notice Sid's still in his gear. "You're go play next game?"

"That's _why_ he's so fucking good," Barry said. "After a game, he heads off to another rink and practices some more."

 _Don't mention the club, don't mention the club_ , Sid thought as hard as he could, fist clenched tight around his gear bag, and Malkin seemed to realise.

"Okay I come practice with you?" As the rest of the team suddenly developed an interest in practising, too, Malkin added, "Just you."

"I prefer to practice alone," Sid said, and ignored the horrified looks of his team.

"Need someone pass you puck," Malkin said.

"I bounce them off the boards," Sid said, and pushed past. "Sorry, I've got to get going."

Malkin followed him out into the parking lot. "I give you ride?"

"I've got a car," Sid said. Okay, it was more a vaguely mobile pile of rust than a car, but the mill didn't pay well, especially as he'd been one of the eighty percent to volunteer for a pay cut last year. It had been a desperate attempt to keep the mill running, but it seemed to be working.

"Your team not know you strip," Malkin said, and Sid stopped dead.

" _Dance,_ " he said, because there was an etiquette to these things. "And, no, they don't. And they're not going to."

Malkin blinked. "I'm not tell," he said, sounding offended. "But if you don't like, why are you do it?"

Sid stared at him. And, yes, the guy had been earning NHL salary for five years, had been pro back in Russia, but he had to know- "For _money_ ," he said. "Hockey's expensive."

"Oh," Malkin said, and then reached out to pat Sid's shoulder pads. "Saw these too small. Not sit right, leave bruise."

" _And_ I keep breaking my sticks," Sid said.

"You play with very short stick," Malkin said, "so light flex, yes?"

Sid nodded.

"No wonder break easy."

"I _know_ that," Sid snapped, and Malkin just smiled, damn him. Sid sighed. "Sorry."

"Get worse from teammates," Malkin said. "Winger always argue with me."

"Right," Sid said, and hefted his bag. "Well, it's been great talking with you, but I've got to go or I'll be late."

"Sure," Malkin said. "See you around." He started to turn away, then paused. "You really very good. Should be playing ECHL, at least."

Sid just shook his head. "Too old now."

"Not always too old," Malkin suggested, but that-

"Various reasons," Sid said, and left it at that. "Goodbye, Mr. Malkin."

"Call me Geno," Malkin said, as though they were ever going to meet again.

"Sure, Geno," Sid said, and dumped his bag in his trunk. "Goodbye," he said again, and slammed his car door shut.

It took the inevitable couple of attempts and desperate prayer to get the engine started, and then Sid was easing onto the road.

Followed by a sleek little sports car.

Sid banged his head against the wheel while pulled up at the next stoplight. Okay, Malkin _could_ be just going home, wherever home was, but he stuck way too close to Sid's bumper all the way to the club, then pulled into the parking space next to him.

"You know that's kind of creepy, right?" Sid said as he got out, Malkin already there because he didn't have to wrestle with a pair of pliers to get his door open.

Malkin shrugged. "Going to same place, right? I hear there really great hockey player str- _dances_ after midnight."

"Not if I don't get a move on," Sid said, and pulled his bag from the trunk. "Goodbye, Mr. Malkin," he said, and slammed the trunk shut with just the right amount of force, i.e., a hell of a lot.

"Geno," Malkin said, and Sid took a deep breath.

"Goodbye, Geno," he repeated, and headed for the staff entrance.

Carly was hanging around outside the door, smoking. "You having trouble with that guy?" she asked.

Malkin was getting a little too close to stalker territory, but not close enough for Sid to worry. "It's good," he reassured Carly.

"I recognise him from somewhere," Carly said, and blew a stream of smoke into Sid's face that made him cough and move away. "Hey, he's that hockey player!" She nudged Sid. "You should get in there, get yourself set for life."

"Not my type," Sid said.

Okay, that was a blatant lie. Malkin was _exactly_ Sid's type - tall, excellent at hockey, smile that made Sid's insides melt a bit. But that was when Malkin was the guy on the ice, the guy in the newspapers and magazines and on the internet. Malkin the guy who went to strip clubs? He wasn't so much Sid's type.

So it kind of sucked that that was the Malkin who Sid met.

* * *

Geno did consider going into the club. But he'd be doing it purely to get an eyeful of Sidney Crosby, and that wasn't the kind of guy he was. Not when Sidney had made it plain that he didn't particularly want Geno watching.

Instead, Geno went back to his car.

It was a couple of weeks later that he was doing a signing at a big, discount sports store, looked up, and noticed Sidney coming through the door.

Sidney took one look at him, turned, and walked straight back out.

Which wasn't promising. Geno sighed and turned to the next woman in the queue.

When he next looked up, Sidney had come back in and was skulking around the hockey gear. Geno beamed, and called over a sales assistant. "That guy there," he said, and pointed. "You go help him, yes? Help him get best gear possible, tell him it all on special offer so same price as budget gear. I pay difference."

The assistant blinked. "Uh, sure. But - you sure you don't want him to know you're paying for it?"

"He not allowed to know I pay. If he find out, I'm _not_ pay." Geno glared. "Understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand." The assistant didn't look convinced, but she'd do as she was told.

"Oh, and tell him, really big special offer, he get free stick - any stick - when he buy shoulder pads."

Good, Geno thought, as he turned back to the queue. At least Sidney wouldn't be skating around in gear that didn't give him enough protection, even if Geno didn't get to see it.

By the time the queue was gone, Sidney was gone, too.

"How much I owe?" Geno asked, and glanced at the receipt. Which- "He not buy shoulder pads?"

"No," the assistant said, "just the stick. But I told him it was buy one, get any stick thrown in free. I thought that was what you'd want?"

"Yes, very good," Geno said, and handed over his credit card. Sidney stuck to a low-to-mid-priced stick, he saw. Even with every stick available to him, he stuck to what he knew worked.

It wasn't fair that he was hot, great at hockey, _and_ adorably set in his ways.

"Surprised he didn't get the most expensive stick and just put it on eBay," the assistant said.

"Not like him," Geno said, and was delighted that it wasn't.

The problem was, Geno thought on the drive home, that Sid may be a stick up from where he'd be without Geno, but he was still playing in crappy pads. And if his pads were crappy, then maybe his helmet was, too.

As soon as Geno got home, he called up the Pens PR department. "Want to donate money to league," he said.

"Hi, Geno," Jennifer said. "How did the signing go?"

"Good," Geno said. "But I want to donate money to league. Make them buy good protective gear for players."

"You want to expand the Little Penguins?" Jen said, and she sounded delighted. "I've been trying to get people on board with that! Put your name behind it, and we could get enough sponsors to stretch it out to five hundred kids a year, maybe even more."

"No, adults," Geno said. "Steel League."

"Steel League?" Jennifer said, and there was more typing. "Oh, there they are. Hmm." Another pause. "We'd get better PR from the Little Penguins. Little kids, Geno. Little kids who get to play hockey because of _you_."

"Steel League," Geno said, determinedly.

Jennifer hummed thoughtfully. "Although, donating to adults is a good twist. People who love the sport for the sport's sake, not because they have any dreams of turning pro. We can work with that. How much are you looking at giving them?"

They worked out the basics, and then Geno left it to Jennifer to deal with the league.

He gave it another few weeks before heading to a Wolves game. This time, the team kept most of their attention on the ice until the final whistle, and he didn't feel quite so guilty about being there.

"My hero!" the goalie - Barry? - said, waddling up to Geno. "Seriously, man, my old pads were like paper. The money we got from the league, thanks to you, I was able to replace them. Look at these babies!"

The new pads were gleaming new, solid, unbreakable and massive. Geno ran some quick mental calculations and, yes, it looked like the Wolves' entire share of his donation had gone on the goalie. He wanted to slam his head into the wall.

"Pretty sure you've already saved me from a broken leg," Barry said, and smiled huge and wide. "Any time we go out for drinks, I'm buying."

"Is deal," Geno said, and glanced past him. "Is Sidney around?"

"Just taking off as much as he does," Barry said, and leaned in closer. "Look, don't press him on joining you for practice after the game. He actually heads off to a second job he thinks we don't know about."

Geno blinked. "Do you know what job is?" he asked cautiously, because he didn't want to accidentally out Sidney to his team.

"Just know it pays well enough to pretty much finance this team," Barry said. "Which makes me think I don't want to know too many details."

"Right," Geno said.

"So, on the one hand, if you steal him off to pro hockey, this team'll collapse, which'll suck. On the other hand, Sid'll be pro, which he deserves." Barry nudged him. "The team'll be happy with that." He frowned. "I mean, that is why you're hanging around, right? You're scouting Sid?"

"I- yes," Geno said, ignoring the entire system of scouts that the Pens had in place. "But not tell him."

"He probably thinks you're scouting one of us," Barry said, and shook his head. "Guy's too fucking modest. Oh, hey, he's here. Don't worry, I'll keep mum."

Keep… mum? English was weird, Geno thought. But Sidney was right there, and he couldn't hold back his smile. "Hi," he said.

"Hi, Geno," Sidney said. "Thanks for the donation. The team had a talk about what to do with our share, and we all thought Barry's gear was the most important thing."

"Decide as team," Geno said, and smiled. "That good."

Sidney shrugged. "It's how we do everything."

"It's not," Barry mouthed silently from behind Sidney. "We listen to him."

Geno grinned. "Come on, Sidney," he said. "Time to go practice."

Sidney blinked, then said, "Oh, yeah, practice. Right. Bye, fellas. Remember, we're collecting for the Mites league on Saturday. I'll see you all there."

Geno followed Sidney out to his car, and said, "You know I give money so you get new shoulder pads, yes?"

Sidney shrugged. "Barry's gear was more important. And I _could_ buy new shoulder pads now, if I didn't mind getting crappy ones, but I'm saving up for something decent." He sighed. "And for new skates. And new hockey pants. And constantly replacing my stick. And that's not counting ice time and team fees and all the rest of it." He managed a smile. "Why didn't I fall in love with karate or something?"

"Karate too soft," Geno said, and Sidney laughed, an enthusiastic giggle that made Geno smile in response, and, oh, that was just unfair.

"Thanks for the donation," Sidney said. "It means a lot to all the guys in the league that an NHL player paid attention to us. I mean, we're a pretty good league, I think, but we're not big or well known."

Geno felt maybe a _little_ guilty about taking credit for that, when he was only paying attention to _one_ player in the league, but he'd cope with it. "No problem," Geno said, and he was backing away as he added. "Break a leg tonight. Right term, yes?"

Sidney was still smiling. "I think it's more for actors than dancers, but the sentiment's appreciated."

Geno settled into his car, carefully shut the door, and took a deep breath. He had to back off from Sidney, if people were thinking he was scouting him. The rumours _would_ get back to him, and Sidney _would_ be disappointed. And Sidney had given no indication of being even a little interested in Geno. He'd given no indication of even being gay.

So… this was it. No more Wolves games. No visits to the club. No more Sidney and his dedication to his team, and his smile, and his ass.

And then Sidney knocked on his window.

When Geno wound it down, Sidney said, "Oh, god, I'm so sorry but my car won't start. I figured - if you were heading to the club anyway?"

"Get in," Geno said, without a second thought.

It was a squash, with Sidney still wearing all his gear but his skates, and with his fragile sticks to fit in, but they managed it.

"Why not put on street clothes for drive?" Geno asked.

"I used to," Sidney said. "But then a game went into triple-OT - we don't do shoot-outs - and I didn't have time to change, get to the club, and change back. Turned out the audience really liked the sweaty gear, so I stuck with it." He wrinkled his nose. "I tried changing at the rink and changing back into the sweaty stuff at the club but - eurgh." He shuddered. "No, once it's off, it has to stay off."

Geno thought about putting back on sweat-soaked gear and shuddered in sympathy. "Stay off, yes." The silence stretched, until Geno said, "You never think of going pro?"

Sidney sighed, and didn't say anything for a long while.

"Sorry," Geno finally said. "Is personal. Shouldn't ask."

"Not really," Sidney said. "I played a lot as a kid, but my dad left when I was ten, and money was really tight after that. My mom did her best for me to keep playing but…" He paused and rubbed at his face. "The hockey had kind of been my dad's thing? He'd played in the QMJHL, been drafted by the Habs, even though he never actually played NHL. So to see her working so fucking hard for me to do something that just reminded her of him…" Sidney shook his head. "No. I told her I didn't want to play any more.”

"She believe you?" Geno asked gently.

"Yeah," Sidney said, turned to face Geno with a half-smile. "She wouldn't have let me stop if she'd known why I was doing it."

"Moms great," Geno said, thinking of his own.

"Yeah," Sidney agreed, and his smile became wider.

"Quebec, Habs," Geno said. "You Canadian? How Pittsburgh?"

Sidney shrugged. "Worked for the same company in Halifax. That plant closed, and they said I could move to Pittsburgh or be laid off. Pittsburgh it was."

"Because we have great hockey team," Geno said, with a grin.

"Still a Habs fan," Sidney said, too straight-faced to be serious. "But you guys don't entirely suck. Shame Lemieux had to retire, though."

That had been the year before Geno arrived. "Means I centre top line," he said. "Best place for me." He glanced at Sidney out of the corner of his eye, and Sidney was laughing. "Have number one draft pick on right wing, lazy idiot on left wing. Works."

"You're lucky to have Ryan and Neal," Sidney said.

"They lucky to have me," Geno said, and pulled into the club. "Here in time. Want me to give you ride home?"

Sidney shook his head. "It's well out of your way," he said.

"Not mind," Geno said, and Sidney paused.

"If you really don't mind?"

"Not offer if not want to," Geno said.

"Then thanks," Sidney said. "Meet you out here when I'm done? It'll be about one, if that's okay?"

"One is good," Geno said, and watched Sidney head into the club.

One o'clock would just about give him time to raid the equipment store at the Consol to find Sidney some decent protective gear.

It took him far too long to get the security guard's attention - or, less charitably, wake him up - but Geno's swipe card gave him access to everywhere once he was actually through the door.

"Are you sure you're allowed to be taking all this?" the security guard asked, as Geno piled up a variety of pads, gloves, helmets, and anything else he could think of. He'd have taken sticks, but nobody on the Pens used such a low-quality stick, and Geno wasn't going to insist on Sidney changing from what he liked.

"You see my contract?" Geno said. "Easy pay back. No problem." 

"Right," the security guard said. "Could you just write down that you told me it was okay? Because I can't afford to lose this job."

Geno did as he was asked, and was back at the club just as Sidney stepped out of the door.

Sidney looked confused as he slid into Geno's car, and more confused at the tangle of gear in the trunk and on what passed for the back seat. There was only just enough room for him to wedge his own bag in.

"So you didn't come in?" he said.

"No," Geno said. "Not nice place to see you. Like see you on ice. So-" He pointed to the back seat. "Gear!"

"The hell?" Sidney said, but he pulled his seatbelt on. "You went _shopping?_ And what do you mean, it's not a nice place to see me? It's where you always see me."

Geno blinked. "Only see you there once. Drunk friend go, I have to look after him." It was just easier to say 'friend' than explain the chain of relatives. "Not go again. Not nice." Unless Sidney was offended that Geno hadn't been back to see him. "But you very good! If I'm go again, be to see you."

"Right," Sidney said, looking confused. "And the shopping?"

"Sponsors give me stuff." Geno was an _excellent_ liar when he had time to prepare. "Not like it, or it not fit, so I put in garage and forget about. Might fit you?"

"Really?" Sidney's face lit up, smile so wide and brilliant that Geno automatically smiled back. "And even if it doesn't fit me, I'm sure it'll fit some other guys on the team."

Geno managed to keep his smile, despite the temptation to slam his head against the wheel. He'd meant to return everything that didn't fit Sidney, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. Oh, well, he could afford it. "One rule before you get it," he said. "You keep best fit for _you_. Not give _all_ to rest of team."

Sidney was still smiling. "I promise," he said.

* * *

As they pulled up in front of the clapboard duplex, Sidney glanced into the back seat. "I'd ask you to give me a hand up, but you probably shouldn't leave your car on its own in this neighbourhood. I'll be as quick as I can."

"Screw car," Geno said, and scooped up an armful of helmets and gloves. "Where we go?"

He followed Sidney past the falling-down chain link fence and up the creaking stairs with their peeling paint. "Sorry about the state of the place," Sidney said, sounding embarrassed. "Our landlord's lousy, and I keep meaning to fix it but never have the time."

"Hockey and two jobs. Surprise you have time _sleep_ ," Geno said.

"I manage," Sidney said, opened the door, and visibly winced. "Okay, I just about manage to sleep but I really don't manage to clean. Or even tidy up. And neither do my roommates. So it gets a bit..."

Sidney pushed the door open fully, and, yeah, it really was a bit...

"On the bright side, my roomies usually aren't home when I am," Sidney said, "so they don't object to me cooking dinner at one in the morning and stuff."

"Where best place for gear?" Geno asked.

Sidney looked around at the piles of junk mail and the discarded clothes and the beer bottles and pizza boxes that looked like they were developing intelligent life. "Yeah, better go in my bedroom," he said.

It wasn't exactly the way Geno had been hoping to be invited into Sidney's bedroom, but he'd take it.

Compared to the living room, Sidney's room was immaculate. The surfaces were a little dusty, but they were clear of dirty dishes, and the bed was made. Geno dumped his armful of gear on the bed. "I go get more," he said.

"Sure," Sidney said, and followed him back down.

It took another two trips to empty Geno's car and bring everything up to Sidney's room.

"Are you sure your sponsors won't mind?" Sidney asked, picking up a pair of gloves. "I mean, this is top-end stuff. And all different companies."

Geno panicked slightly, but he said, "They give to me when I deciding who to go with," and Sidney seemed to believe it because he pulled on one of the gloves.

"It's a good fit," he said, and looked up.

Geno was just _looking_ at Sidney, he wasn't doing anything _wrong_ , but it felt like all his emotions were on display, and his breath caught in his throat. It seemed hours before Sidney cleared his throat and looked away, and Geno could finally breathe again.

He risked a quick glance at Sidney, at the faint blush on his cheeks, then turned to study Sidney's bookshelf. "You like war history?" Geno said, doing his best to sound normal.

"When I get a chance to read, yeah," Sidney said, and he seemed so natural that Geno could pretend he'd imagined the awkwardness. "I was planning on minoring in history at college, but." He shrugged. "Money was too tight, so no college. I try to fit in a community college course during the off-season, though."

Geno slid the book back. "You work very hard."

Sid just shrugged again. "I probably wouldn't if it wasn't for the hockey."

"Add to beer and pizza boxes?" Geno asked with a grin, and Sid laughed.

"Probably wouldn't go _quite_ that far the other way," he said, "but I don't know, I might. I don't know what I'd do without the hockey."

"Why you should wear good gear, not get broken," Geno said, and tossed a helmet at Sidney. "Try on. Find good fit."

Sidney obediently pulled the helmet on, and as he was settling it, eyes fixed on the wall, he said, "I don't understand why you're doing all this."

Geno swallowed hard and tightened his fingers on the helmet he was holding, because he'd known Sidney wasn't stupid.

Sidney sounded thoughtful as he continued. "The guys haven't said anything to me, but they think you're scouting me. I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure NHL teams don't send their star players to rec leagues when they're looking for talent. And if it was the publicity, you'd be making more of it. I mean, you made a pretty hefty donation, and it barely got a photo in the local press."

"Not scouting," Geno managed to say, despite his dry mouth and thick tongue.

"No," Sidney said. "And for a bit I thought you might be confused between a stripper and a hooker."

Geno nearly dropped the helmet. "No!" he said. "I'm not think of you like that! Never!"

Sidney actually smiled at that, but he still didn't look at Geno. "Yeah, I decided that if you thought I was a hooker, you'd be offering cash to _me_ , not to my league. And most guys who use hookers think strip clubs are great places to hang out, so you win on that one, too." He finally turned to look at Geno, and there was something plaintive in his voice as he said, "But I still don't get why you're doing all this."

Geno carefully placed the helmet on Sidney's dresser, and put his hands in his pockets. He took a deep breath, and said, "I like you."

Sidney's voice was blank as he said, "You like me."

Geno nodded. "You look good. And you love hockey, and your mom, and your team. You think of others before you. Your friends think you good person." He shrugged, smiled a little. "And you look very, very good. On ice and off."

"Right." Sidney was frowning a little, but he looked more thoughtful than annoyed. "So you're, what, trying to hit on me with hockey gear?" His mouth twitched into a small smile. "Like the really, really expensive version of buying someone a drink in a bar."

Geno risked a smile back. "No, not try to hit on you. I just…" He shrugged. "I just want you to be safe. Want you to wear good gear. Good gear that fit."

"Right," Sidney said again, and chewed on his lower lip, in a way that made Geno feel warm all over. "This isn't sponsorship gear, is it?"

Geno shook his head.

"You made a shop open up for you? At _midnight?_ " Geno wasn't sure if Sidney sounded more horrified or impressed. 

"Not from shop," he said. Although, he realised, the truth might not be much less horrifying and/or impressive. "From equipment store at Consol," he admitted. "Will pay for it, though. Not stealing from team."

Sidney slowly took the helmet off. "Wow," he said, and shook his head. "Okay, first off, you need to take this back."

Geno opened his mouth to object, but Sidney kept talking.

"I don't even want to imagine what the paperwork would be like for a player buying a bunch of gear off the team to give to somebody else. It probably infringes on bulk purchase agreements and sponsorship agreements and god knows what."

It… possibly did? Geno didn't really pay much attention to that side of it. The gear was where he needed it, when he needed it, and that was all that really mattered. He sighed, and said, "Okay. That first. What second?"

There was a pause before Sidney said, "I have no idea," and lifted his arms a little, giving a helpless smile. "What were you going to do after outfitting me?"

"Was going to walk away," Geno admitted, and Sidney's smile faded. "Because your team think I scouting you, not want disappoint you," Geno added quickly. "And, well, you not seem to like me much."

"I thought you were a regular at the club," he said, and wrinkled his nose. "I dated a customer once. It was _horrible_."

"Do you like me now you know I not go club?" Geno asked, and he could feel his smile widening.

"You're kind of hard to dislike," Sidney said, and Geno gave up on trying to hold his smile in check.

"We should go for dinner," Geno said. "Somewhere romantic."

Sidney didn't reply for a few moments. "The thing is," he said, "there are issues. Well, maybe not issues. Difficulties. Questions."

Geno frowned. "I like you. You like me. We go on date."

"Let me think about it," Sidney said. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Okay," Geno agreed reluctantly. "I'm give you my number."

Sidney's phone turned out to be an ancient brick of a thing, and Sidney looked embarrassed as he handed it over and took Geno's sleek smartphone in return. "Shut up," he muttered.

"Better new helmet than new phone," Geno said, and punched his number in before handing the phone back. "Let me know tomorrow, yes?"

"I will," Sidney said, and looked at the pile of gear on his bed. "Come on, let's get all this back in your car."

* * *

Sid flopped back onto his bed, and quickly rearranged himself to avoid that one spring that had a vendetta against his ass.

Geno wanted to take him on a date.

Sid wanted to go on a date with Geno.

It should have been pretty simple, except…

Did he just want it because Geno was Evgeni Malkin, NHL superstar, and a guy rich enough to equip Sid's entire team without noticing?

He liked to think he wasn't that greedy, but what else was there that was making him want to say yes?

Well, other than the fact that Geno had raided the Pens' equipment store just because he wanted Sid to be safe. That was kind of heart-warming. And he seemed to be interested in Sid as a person, not just as a piece of ass on a stage. And if anybody could put up with Sid's devotion to hockey, it was an NHL player.

And there was that smile, and the height, and the broad shoulders, and the butt, and, yeah, those were some good reasons right there.

And so what if he didn't know Geno very well? Dates were all about getting to know the other person.

Before he could change his mind, he sent a text to Geno. "Yes."

He got the response a few seconds later. ":)))))))))) when?"

Which, okay, Sid's schedule was probably reason enough on its own to avoid dating. Especially as he was going to be relying on public transportation until he could afford to get his car fixed.

The next text came while he was trying to find a long enough free spot. "i pick u up from work tmrw?"

"Practice tomorrow."

"what time?"

"7:30."

"pick u up from work, eat, take u 2 practice."

And, well, what was the point of dating someone with a reliable car if you couldn't catch a ride occasionally.

"Sounds good. I finish at 5:30."

"see u tmrw!!!"

* * *

Sid got a text at 5:20. "outside parking lot security guy not let me in"

"Shit," Sid muttered. "James, my ride's here. Okay if I…?"

James didn't look up from the football highlights he was watching. "Sure, head off. You came in half an hour early, anyway."

Which was only because the bus schedule gave him a choice between being a half-hour early or a half-hour late, but Sid would take it.

He slung his gear bag over his shoulder, picked up his sticks, and headed for the door at something that became an actual run once he was outside.

The sleek little sports car was pulled up by the side of the road, and the passenger door popped open as Sid got close. Sid crammed his bag and sticks into the back, then dropped into the passenger seat, and finally turned to look properly at Geno.

Who was giving him a look that was probably illegal in thirty states, because _oh_. Sid felt his breath speed up, and then Geno was leaning in and kissing him, one hand on Sid's jaw. Sid's eyes fluttered shut and he hadn't consciously rested his own hand on Geno's shoulder but it was there, and he could feel flex of tendons and muscles and it made the whole thing even more real.

When Geno finally pulled away, Sid blinked a few times, and said, "Wow."

Geno's smile changed from brain-meltingly hot to just smug. 

They were both good looks on him, Sid decided. "So, where are we going to eat?"

Geno looked incredibly pleased with himself. "Not time for somewhere nice. Not time go to my place. So, I'm bring picnic!"

"It's November," Sid pointed out.

Geno waved it off. "I'm Russian, you Canadian. American weather not real weather. And I bring extra coat for you, anyway."

They ended up in Point of View park, looking out over the city as they ate the subs Geno had brought, and drank hot tea from a thermos. Sid wrapped his cold fingers around the cup, watched his breath frost in the air, and let himself lean into Geno a little bit more.

Geno let out a pleased little noise, and leaned back, and Sid smiled.

"What time you finish practice?" Geno asked.

"Usually about half past ten," Sid said.

"You want I wait and take you home?"

Sid shook his head. "One of guys is going to take a look at my car. He can usually get it running again. If he can't, I can grab the bus."

Geno's nose was cold against Sid's ear. "Meant, you _mind_ I wait. Take you home if car not work."

Sid swallowed. "I'm not going home after," he said. "I'm going to work."

"Oh," Geno said, and he sounded a little unhappy about it, but he didn't move away. "Well, I take you to work. And _then_ take you home."

Sid shut his eyes. "No," he said. "You've got a game tomorrow, you're not staying up until one o'clock to chauffeur me around."

"You know my games," Geno said, and he sounded surprised and pleased.

"Of course I do, I'm a hockey fan in Pittsburgh." And maybe he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time today on the Pens website, but he wasn't going to admit that. "And apart from that - I don't want to rush this." He rested his hand on Geno's knee, and looked at that as he continued. "I know me. I know I throw myself into things with everything I've got. And if I've done that, and this doesn't work out, I know it'll hurt. A lot."

"Okay," Geno said slowly. "Make sense." He rested his hand on top of Sid's, the palm of it blazing hot from holding his tea and his fingers colder. "But will work out."

"I hope so," Sid said, and leaned in a little to Geno. "But there's one thing."

"What?" Geno's hand tightened over Sid's, and Sid watched the tendons moving under his skin.

"You don't like that I'm a dancer, do you?"

Geno didn't answer and, when Sid looked up at his face, he was frowning and chewing his lower lip. "I not _like_ it," Geno said slowly. "But, you know, not _not_ like it?" He exhaled sharply. "English sucks. Is… Would like you not dance? But would like you not work at mill. Would like you play hockey always. Not work."

"Oh," Sid said, because he hadn't been expecting that.

"And I think _you_ not like. You not want team to know."

Sid pulled a face. "Yeah, because they'd laugh at me _so much_. And probably show up en masse to cheer or something. It'd be _horrible_."

Geno shuddered. "Not good."

"And they'd probably feel guilty that I'm _selling my body_ for the team, or something, when it's just a job," Sid said. Okay, collecting tips could get a bit… gropey. But the bouncers were pretty on the ball if it got past what he could handle. "I'd rather dance for ten minutes than spend five hours behind a bar."

Geno nudged his shoulder. "More time for hockey," he said, and then gave Sid the smile that meant he was about to say something he thought was clever. "More time for me."

Sid laughed, and nudged Geno back. "Yeah," he said. "More time for you."

* * *

Geno checked his phone one last time before the game, and found a text from Sidney. "Break someone else's leg," it said, and Geno grinned.

"will score goal 4 u," he sent back, and turned his phone off.

"What are you looking so cheerful about?" Duper demanded, and tried to grab Geno's phone out of his hand, but Geno was too quick. By the time Duper and Tanger managed to get the phone off him, it was already locked, and Geno, unlike most of the team, was smart enough _not_ to use his own number as the passcode. "We'll find out," Duper warned him.

"You try," Geno said. "You not."

Geno got two goals, and an assist to Neal on a power play goal that turned out to be the game winner.

With Duper and Tanger lurking, Geno kept his phone locked until he was safely in his car, when he turned it on to find a text from Sidney. "Over-achiever! :-) Good job!"

"u work 2nite?" Geno sent, and got the reply a moment later.

"Yes."

"i come watch?"

It seemed to take a long time for this reply to come through but, when it did, it said, "Yes. On at 12:15."

"want ride from practice?"

"It's okay, my car's fixed. See you there."

Geno felt incredibly seedy walking into the club on his own, and even more so when he realised that heading straight for Sidney's stage made him look like a regular.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before Sidney came on stage, the spotlight picking him out and shining off his hair as he went through the same movements as before. Exactly the same movements, Geno realised, and tried to fight back a fond smile before giving in.

If Sidney had been hot before, he was incendiary now, because Geno _knew_ him. Knew he was stubborn and determined and laughed like a dork and had a lethal backhand and took face-offs like a beast.

And now, he knew that Sidney had learned this routine, down to every stretch and bend and twist, and repeated it absolutely precisely every night, and the knowledge made him grin like an idiot, even as he admired Sidney's broad chest and the solid muscling across his shoulders. One day, he was going to get to touch that pale skin and taste the bruises, and put Sidney in a hot tub until he was boneless and relaxed and the aches were all gone.

For now, he was disappointed when the brief glimpse of Sidney's ass was replaced by darkness.

"vvvv hot," he texted to Sidney. "u dance again?"

There was no reply but, a few minutes later, he saw Sidney coming through the crowds, looking tense in a pair of black bike shorts, but dutifully pausing to talk to customers long enough to pick up a few bills. It seemed an age before he reached Geno, and then the tightness seemed to seep out of his shoulders, and his smile was genuine, and Geno wanted to wrap him up and take him away from everything that made him uncomfortable.

Instead, he said, "Very talented dancer. You train with Bolshoi?"

Sidney ducked his head a little, lifted one side of his mouth in a grin, and said, "Trained with Carly. She designed the routine; I just learned it."

"Very good routine for hockey player," Geno said, and Sidney shrugged.

"She's training as a sports physiotherapist," he said. "She knows her stuff."

If Sidney was dancing here to finance outside interests, it made sense that other people were, too. It just came as something of an uncomfortable surprise. Geno distracted himself by asking, "You do private dances?"

"Not usually," Sidney said, but he was fighting a smile.

"Only for special clients," Geno said, voice filled with overly emphatic understanding.

" _Very_ special clients," Sidney said. "Clients who don't mind that I basically can't dance."

"Yep, I'm very special client," Geno said. He paused. "If you okay with?"

"For you, I'll make an exception," Sidney said, and held out his hand. "Fifty bucks."

"I have to pay?" Geno said, mock-offended, but he was pulling his wallet out even as he spoke.

"Management are very strict on the 'no freebies'," Sidney said, and took the bills Geno handed over. "Follow me."

Considering the tightness of Sidney's shorts, Geno was perfectly happy to do so.

Sidney handed over the cash to a hulking bouncer, who gave Geno a considering look, then pulled back the curtain to show an alcove furnished with an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair.

"Sit down," Sidney said, and turned his attention to a small, battered stereo.

Geno resisted the urge to wipe the chair before he did as he was told. "You sit on my lap?" he said.

Sidney turned around with the first thumping notes of a song Geno vaguely recognised from the locker room. "You know how I said management are strict on the 'no freebies'?" he said. "They're even stricter on the 'no touching'."

Geno narrowed his eyes. "So…"

"So you sit there, with your hands by your sides. And I stay here and-" Sidney frowned slightly. "I try to dance."

Geno lasted about thirty seconds before he had to cover his face and start laughing.

"Oh, fuck off!" Sidney said, but he was laughing too. "I'm not a natural dancer, okay?"

Geno wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to stop laughing. "Natural hockey player, yes," he said. "Natural dancer, no."

"Seeing as you don't appreciate my dancing," Sidney said, "I'm just going to stand here until the song's done." He leaned up against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and raised his eyebrows at Geno.

"I just watch," Geno said, and settled back in his chair to enjoy the sight of Sidney's powerful thighs, the solid width of his hips, the way his biceps and triceps curved under his skin.

It was only a few moments before Sidney's cheeks started to turn pink, and he tightened his arms.

"You okay?" Geno asked.

"It's just weird," Sidney said. "I can't normally see the people looking at me."

"I really like what I see," Geno said. And then, feeling a little giddy with the risk said, "I'm think, would look really nice in my bed."

Sidney inhaled sharply, and Geno didn't think that was a bad sign.

"Tonight?" he said.

Sidney licked his lips, and his voice was a little wild when he said, "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Sid followed Geno's little car through the streets, Geno driving slow enough that Sid's car could keep up. Geno had offered his address for Sid's GPS, but, "I don't have GPS," Sid had said, and Geno had blinked.

"Okay," he'd said, and Sid had a horrible feeling Geno was going to present him with a GPS system at some point soon, claiming it was just something he'd had lying around.

For now, Sid followed Geno into the gated community, ignored the curious look from the security guard, and finally pulled his car up next to Geno's in front of a house that could fit his own apartment at least twelve times over.

Sid took a deep breath and got out of his car. Geno was waiting by his own car, and he held his hand out to Sid, smiled, and some of the butterflies in Sid's stomach settled their wings. He felt a bit silly taking Geno's hand, but Geno rubbed his thumb over Sid's, his skin warm and dry, rough spots catching against Sid's skin, and Sid relaxed.

Geno kept hold of his hand as he unlocked the front door, led them through, and shut it behind them, leaving them in near darkness. Geno's voice was rough as he said, "You want drink? Something eat?"

"No," Sid said, but he had to clear his throat before he could get the word out.

"Good," Geno said, and tugged on Sid's hand, pulling him towards the staircase that curved up into darkness. "Upstairs. Come."

"Yeah," Sid said, and Geno didn't have to pull him, just had to guide him up the stairs and through a door, and Geno didn't let go of his hand even as he turned on the bedside lamp.

It was enough light to make out the basics of the room - heavy wooden furniture, a battered book on the nightstand, white sheets on the bed, still unmade from Geno's pre-game nap - and Sid tightened his hand around Geno's as Geno turned to look at him.

"You here," Geno said, and his smile was soft. "At last."

"We went on our first date yesterday," Sid pointed out, but he tugged Geno closer as he said it.

"Yes," Geno said. "It take whole day to get you here. Long time. You are very stubborn."

"It normally takes a lot longer," Sid said, and reached up to kiss Geno.

Geno let out a happy little hum, and kissed back. It was moments before his free hand was on the back of Sid's neck, pulling him that little bit closer, and if this had been hot in Geno's car, being right next to Geno's bed was burning Sid up.

He was the one who broke the kiss. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"What do _you_ want?" Geno asked, and Sid had to fight down the impulse to say 'Everything,' because, fuck, he did, but not yet.

"I'm good with blowjobs and handjobs," he said.

Geno studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said. But he leaned in closer and, his breath warm and tickling Sid's ear, murmured, "One day, I want you fuck me," and Sid had trouble breathing.

"One day," he managed to say.

"Good," Geno said, and finally let go of Sid's hand. He took a step back and started unbuttoning his shirt, pulled it and his suit jacket off together, and Sid took a sharp breath.

Because Sid had seen photographs of Geno shirtless - okay, had actively looked for them - but photographs were so different to having him here, skin warm in the dim light, and knowing that he was allowed to touch, that he could _have_ this.

"Wait, let me," Sid said, and he had his hands at Geno's flies before Geno could say anything. It was as awkward as it always was from this side, but it was worth it for the way Geno took a shaky breath then stayed determinedly still as Sid unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then let them fall.

Geno kicked off his shoes as he stepped out of his pants. "Your turn now," he said.

"Yeah," Sid said absently, but he was looking at Geno, tall and lean and golden, and he rested his hand on Geno's chest.

"Fuck," Geno said, and Sid looked up to find him chewing on his lower lip, eyes wide. " _Please_ , Sidney."

"You've seen me," Sid said, but he shrugged off his coat, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and let them both drop on the floor.

"Not same," Geno said, and reached out. He didn't touch Sid at first, just held the flat of his hand millimetres from Sid's collarbone, and then he breathed out, and stroked his hand down Sid's chest. "Can touch now."

"Yeah," Sid said. "You can." He let out a breathless laugh. "In fact, please do."

Geno looked up at that, a smile quirking his lips, but he didn't say anything, just pressed a quick kiss to Sid's mouth.

"Fuck," Sid said, and pushed Geno away. "Okay, we both need to be naked now."

Geno laughed, and pushed his underwear down, before sitting on the bed to kick them off, and take off his socks.

" _Fuck_ ," Sid repeated, and had to look away to concentrate on taking off the rest of his own clothes. 

But finally he was naked, and then Geno grabbed his hands, tugged hard, and Sid tripped onto the bed, flattening Geno underneath him.

"Smooth," he said, with his face buried in Geno's sheets, and Geno laughing into Sid's armpit.

"Very," Geno agreed, voice muffled, and breath warm and damp against Sid's skin. Geno rolled them over and propped himself up on one elbow, then just stared down at Sid's face, smiling slightly.

"What?" Sid asked, after a moment.

"Nothing," Geno said. "Like looking at you." He stroked one finger down Sid's nose, then rested it against his lips, and Sid automatically opened his mouth enough to lick the tip of it. "Oh," Geno said, and his breath came a little bit faster as his gaze sharpened. "I want to suck you now."

Sid blinked. "That would be good," he said, and let out a breathless laugh. "Very good."

* * *

"I should go," Sid finally said, and Geno slowly leaned up enough to look at him, eyes heavy with sleep, and practically pouting.

"No," Geno said, and settled back down, arm over Sid's chest and head resting on his shoulder.

"I have work in the morning, Geno," Sid said, and made himself push Geno's arm away.

Geno put it straight back before Sid could move. "Me too."

"I can't go to work in jeans and a dirty t-shirt. I need to go home first."

"Go home on way to work."

And it really would be nice to stay, to snuggle into the warmth of Geno's bed - and the warmth of Geno - but if he did that, he was pretty sure he'd come straight back here after work, and never leave. "I've got to go, Geno," he said, and tried to make it definite.

Geno sighed and rolled away. "Is this rushing?"

"Kind of, yeah," Sid said. 

"Okay, then," Geno said, and heaved himself out of bed. He wrapped a bathrobe around himself and stood there, yawning, as Sid got his own clothes together, then followed him downstairs.

"I'll call you, okay?" Sid said.

"Tomorrow?" Geno said, looking hopeful.

"Before the end of next week."

Geno's face fell.

"First date was _yesterday_ ," Sid reminded him. "And we aren't rushing."

"I know, I know." Geno pulled a face. "Goodnight kiss, though?"

"Oh, yeah," Sid said, and he must have sounded pretty eager, because Geno smiled.

The kiss was surprisingly chaste, and Geno was the one who finally broke it. "Go," he said. "Before I throw you over shoulder and take you back to bed."

"You couldn't," Sid said, but the calculating look Geno gave him made him reach for the door handle, and Geno laughed.

Geno waited at the door, leaning against the frame and letting the heat out, as Sid coaxed his car into life. When Sid reached the end of the driveway, he looked back, and Geno was still there.

It wasn't as though Geno could see him, but he waved anyway.

* * *

When he got home, the lights were on in the living room, and Zoe was asleep on the couch, blanket wrapped around her.

Sid gently shook her shoulder and, when she blinked blearily up at him, the twists of her hair all over the place, he said, "Your bed's probably more comfortable."

"Mm, yeah," she said, then blinked again. "Wait, what time is it?"

Sid looked at his watch and, shit. "After four." He had to be up for work in less than two hours.

"You're late," Zoe said. "Even later than normal."

"Yeah," Sid said. "Something came up." As soon as he said it, he realised the double meaning, and started to blush.

Zoe's smile spread. " _Really?_ " she said, one eyebrow raised. "What's his name?"

Sid shook his head. "It's nothing serious."

"Yeah, _right_ ," Zoe said, and she suddenly frowned. "Fuck. Look, I was waiting up for you for a reason." She curled her legs up, and patted the seat next to her.

Sid obediently sat down.

"Bad news. The landlord isn't renewing the lease."

It took a moment to sink in. "Fuck," he said, as his stomach started to tie itself in knots.

Zoe nodded.

"But we should be able to find somewhere else, right?" Sid said.

"It gets worse," Zoe said. "Leroy's decided to move in with his boyfriend."

"Oh," Sid said, and started running the calculations. "But we should be able to afford somewhere with just the two of us."

Zoe chewed her lower lip, and Sid felt the knot in his stomach tighten. "I-" It took Zoe a moment to start again. "My mom's not doing well. The MS is progressing, and Mama's struggling to look after her. So I think I need to move back to Idaho to help." Her face was twisted with concern. "I'm sorry, Sid, I really am."

"Hey, you've got nothing to be sorry for," Sid said, and rubbed her arm. "Your moms need you, you've got to go." 

Her face relaxed a little. "Anything we can do to help, let us know. Stellar roommate references, help you lug your shit to your new place, that kind of thing."

"Thanks," Sid said, and stood up. "I've got to get to bed. See you tomorrow."

Zoe held out her hand for Sid to pull her up, and he obliged. "We'll be good, right?" she said.

"Sure," Sid said.

Lying in bed, he wasn't so sure. He wasn't going to find anywhere as cheap as this, not without going into the _really_ sketchy neighbourhoods, and he was financially stretched as it was. And whether or not he could find somewhere this cheap, he was still facing the endless round of roommate interviews, and the crushing feeling of personal rejection when he was inevitably turned down.

Maybe he could drop out of one of his leagues? That would free up some cash. And if he used the freed up time to pick up some extra hours dancing, that would get him some more money.

But he could wave goodbye to getting new gear any time soon.

"Fuck," he said out loud, then wriggled away from the spring that had it in for his ass, and tried to sleep.

He didn't succeed.

* * *

Geno was the last into the video room.

"Good to see you, Evgeni," Coach Bylsma said, with only the mildest sarcasm.

"Yes," Geno said, taking his usual seat next to Nealsy and stretching his legs out. "Is always good to see me."

He looked up in time to see Coach Bylsma fight down a smile, and elbowed Nealsy, just on general principle.

"Ow!" Nealsy said, and shoved him back hard.

"You spill my coffee!" Geno objected.

"I did not!" Nealsy said.

"If you're _quite_ finished?" Coach Bylsma said, and Nealsy subsided, glaring at Geno.

"Ready," Geno said, and smiled benevolently.

Once the tape review of last night's game was done, and they were getting changed to get on the ice, Nealsy said, "It's Friday night. We're going out, right?"

And normally, Geno would. But there was always the possibility Sid would ring tonight, so he said, "No, got plans," and turned away.

But that didn't shut Nealsy up. "What's more important than hanging with your buds, Geno?"

"Cutting toenails," Geno said.

Nealsy ignored him. "Come on, G," he said. "I've heard about this bar that is stuffed _full_ of hot chicks. You know you like hot chicks."

And, yes, Geno _did_ like hot chicks. But not as much as he liked Sid, so he shook his head, said, "Got to clean fridge," and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"Paulie'll come out with me tonight," Nealsy said. "Won't you, Paulie?" he called across the room.

"Won't I what?"

"Geno won't pick up hot chicks with me tonight, so I said you would."

Paulie shrugged. "Sure."

"See, Paulie's a _true_ frie- is that a _hickey_?"

"No," Geno said, but Nealsy ignored him, and poked at the side of Geno's neck.

"It _is_! Fuck, no wonder you don't want to come out if you've got a girl at home."

"No girl at home," Geno said, and pulled on his undershirt.

"But there is a girl involved, right? You haven't been experimenting with a vacuum cleaner?"

"No girl," Geno repeated firmly. "Is no-"

He was _going_ to say there was nobody, but the words seemed to get stuck. He didn't want to lie about Sid. He wanted to be able to share this. And he had a hopeful suspicion that Sid was going to be too important to be able to keep lying about him.

So he concentrated very hard on straightening his cuff, and said, just as the locker room fell into one of those unexpected silences, "Is not girl. Is boy."

The silence continued, and Geno kept straightening his cuff, even though his eyes were shut.

"Well," Nealsy finally said. "I hope he's hot."

Geno opened his eyes and looked around the locker room. Most people met his eyes, a few looked away, and one or two gave him supportive smiles. "Hotter than all you," Geno said, and hoped his voice didn't sound as weirdly choked to everybody else as it did to him. He cleared his throat. "Nearly hot as me."

"Fuck," Nealsy said, "you mean he's even uglier than you? Poor guy, living as a freak of nature." He sounded kind of stilted, but it was enough to let the others turn away, possibly to resume their conversations, more likely to talk about Geno's bombshell.

Geno did his best not to listen in, but he couldn't avoid the occasional snatches.

"-never have thought-"

"-not gonna blackmail him-"

"-don't drop the soap!"

"-not fucking funny, it's _Geno_ , you-"

Geno got changed quicker than usual, was the first out on the ice, and he was joined after a few minutes by Brooks, wearing his most determined-captain expression.

"Hey," Brooks said, skating next to him.

"Hey," Geno said, and stepped up the pace a little.

Brooks gave him a look that said he knew what Geno was doing but would let him get away with it. "The guys just wanted me to ask - is this staying in the team or are you going public?"

Geno stopped dead, sending up a spray of snow. "Stay in team!" he said quickly. "Am not- Is _private_ , yes?"

"I thought so," Brooks said, and tapped Geno's helmet. "We've got your back."

* * *

Sid was using his lunch break to browse Craigslist for apartments when his phone beeped with a text.

"come out 2 team they good"

Sid re-read it a couple of times before he texted back, "Are you saying you want me to go out with the team, or that you came out to the team?"

"both )))))))"

A moment later, Sid's phone beeped again.

"come tonight?? nealsy say good bar"

But Sid was kind of stuck on the first thing. He locked his computer, grabbed his cellphone and nearly sprinted to the restroom to phone Geno. The first thing he said, not even bothering with a greeting was, "You _came out_?"

"No big deal," Geno said. "They all good."

"But-" Sid rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "What if they _hadn't_ been good, Geno? We've been on one date, we might not even last a month, and this- Jesus, it could ruin your whole career!"

There was a pause, and Geno sounded stiff as he said, "Is my career to ruin. I tell them bit because of you, but more because of _me_. Not want to lie."

Sid shut his eyes. "Fuck, _Geno_. What if this gets out?"

"It won't," Geno said, and he sounded supremely confident. "Team won't tell."

"But how do you _know?_ "

"Because it not got out about other gay guys in NHL," Geno said, amused, and Sid blinked.

"There are other gay guys? _Who?_ "

"I'm not tell you!" Geno said, as though it was obvious. "Only team know."

"So someone else on the Pens?"

Geno sighed. "No. Someone who has been on team with someone on Pens."

"That could be anybody in the NHL."

"Yes."

"And you won't tell me more than that?"

He could practically hear the grin in Geno's voice. "No." A pause, and Geno added, "I only know team, not player. It _always_ stay quiet."

"Did you know that when you came out?" Sid asked, and the wait for Geno to reply told him the answer.

"I just want not to lie," Geno said. "I- You important to me. I'm want not to lie about that, you know. About you. And it's my choice."

Sid swallowed. "Geno," he said, but he couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say.

"I see you tonight?"

"Yes. No. I mean, I've got a game tonight and then I'm working."

"I'm come to game."

And Sid knew he should say no, but he said, "I'll see you there."

* * *

Geno pulled his baseball cap down as he got out of his car. The parking lot was nearly empty, only a cluster of cars by the rink entrance, ranging from Sid's junker to a year-old Audi SUV.

The rink was nearly as empty, just the two teams warming up on the ice and a scattering of family through the stands. Geno kept his head down as he climbed up the stands and settled in a seat at the back. The cinderblock wall was cold against his back, but Sid was carefully steering the puck through the lines of an advert on the ice and his stickhandling was more than enough to distract Geno.

Finally, Sid slapped the puck to the end of the rink, and skated to the bench. After a couple of minutes chatting with his team, he was back at the centre dot, tapping his stick impatiently against the ice while he waited for the linesman and opposing centre to join him.

And then the puck dropped, was passed straight to Sid's left-wing, and the game was on.

By the last ten seconds, Sid's team was up by 2, the opposition had pulled their goalie, Sid was powering up the ice with the puck pretty much glued to his stick, and there was nobody between him and the net. He took a split-second to steady himself, shot - and missed by an inch.

"No!" Geno bellowed, and thumped the bench.

On the ice, Sid was laughing up at him, and a few other people were staring with dawning recognition.

"Sorry," Geno called. "Keep playing."

Brought back to himself, the referee blew his whistle, and the game was over. The next second, there was a kid, about five or six, standing next to Geno. "Are you Geno?" she asked.

Geno glanced down at the ice, where Sid was gathering up the pucks and laughing with his team. He had a bit of time, he figured, so he smiled. "Yes, am call Geno. How are you called?"

"Florence," the girl said, and stared at him. "My daddy says you're terrible. He says the Pengins should trade you for a bag of pucks."

"Is your daddy play today?" Geno asked.

Florence nodded. "That's him," she said, and pointed to a guy who'd played on the opposition's second line, hadn't managed a single shot on goal, and had come out of the game a -5. She leaned in close, and said, "Mommy says Daddy's a defentsive liabilidy with no offentsive instick. Mommy says you're the best thing to happen to the Pengins since Jagr."

"Not Lemieux?" Geno said, amused.

Florence shook her head hard. "She doesn't like you _that_ much."

"I'm play better," Geno promised, just as a flustered woman hurried up to him. 

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I turned my back for a moment, and she was gone. You can't _do_ that, Florence."

"But it's _Geno_ ," Florence said.

"It doesn't matter _who_ it is. You don't talk to strangers."

Florence was frowning now, mouth screwed up into an angry knot, and Geno said, "Your mommy right, you know. Some strangers not nice."

"But _you're_ nice," Florence insisted, and Geno grinned.

"Yes. I'm nice." He pointed down at the ice. "You go now. Daddy waiting."

"Who are you here to watch?" Florence asked.

"My buddy, Sid. Number eighty-seven, see."

Florence's mother said, "He's really good. Tracks the game well, his skating's great, and his face-offs have improved so much since last season. He's good coaching the mites and squirts, too – Florence loves him. It's a shame this is his last game." 

Geno blinked and nearly told her she was talking garbage, Sid would never quit _hockey_ , but he managed to keep it inside and finish off the conversation politely, including signing a page in her awkwardly offered diary.

He kept it inside until Sid came out of the locker room, sweat still trickling down his face and eyes bright. "You quitting _hockey?_ " Geno demanded, and instantly wished he hadn't, because Sid looked like somebody had kicked his puppy.

"Just this league," he said, and shrugged. "Long story."

Geno blinked. "You play in other league?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sid said, as though it was obvious. "Penn Amateur. And I coach some kids."

Suddenly, the number of practices made more sense. "So why you quit Steel League?"

Sid turned away, shrugged. "Boring story," he said. "Come on, I've got to get to work." He managed a smile. "You coming to watch?"

"Sure," Geno said, and his own smile felt nearly as fake as Sid's. "Almost as fun as watch you play hockey."

Geno followed Sid's single tail-light through town, and tried to think what could make Sid give up something he loved. And the answer seemed depressingly obvious - the team had found out Sid was gay, and wasn't okay with it.

He pulled up beside Sid's car, and, as soon as they were both out, said, "You come out to team, yes? They not like?"

Sid looked confused for a moment, then laughed. "I came out to my teams _ages_ ago, Geno. They're fine." He frowned slightly. "Well, one guy on the Wolves quit, but he was really sloppy on the forecheck, so it wasn't a loss."

"But then, why quit?" Geno demanded.

Sid sighed. "Money, Geno. I can't afford the league fees and extra ice time any more." Geno opened his mouth, but Sid spoke over him. "And I'm not taking money from you."

Geno subsided. "You can pay before now. What change?"

"Landlord's not renewing our lease, and finding somewhere else that cheap is going to be difficult." Sid was hunched in on himself a little, and it was clear he didn't like talking about it. "I'll figure it out, don't worry."

"Can always stay at my house," Geno said, and when Sid opened his mouth to object, Geno raised a hand. "Not _always_. Just if you can't get new place in time."

"Right," Sid said, and nodded. "Well, hopefully it won't come to that, but thanks for the offer. I've got to-" He pointed over his shoulder.

"Sure," Geno said. "Go dance. Before Bolshoi sign you."

"Fuck _off_ ," Sid said, but he was grinning when he turned away and headed inside.

Geno waited until he was gone and then called Mark Letestu.

"The fuck, Geno? It's nearly midnight. What couldn't wait till the morning?"

"What you do with your Pittsburgh apartment?"

There was a long pause, and Mark said, "I can't break the lease, so I'm trying to sublet it."

"I got a buddy," Geno said. "Need a place."

"Yeah?" Mark sounded interested. "Because I'd love to get the rent off my hands. We don't all get multi-million contracts like you."

"He can't pay the rent," Geno said.

"Ah, fuck, Geno." Mark sighed. "I need to get _some_ return on it."

"So, I pay rent for him," Geno said, talking over him. "Full rent. But you not got to tell him that. Tell him you sign a shitty contract on it, can't sublet, need someone keep an eye on it. Cheaper have him live there than pay someone to check it."

"What the fuck's going on?" Mark demanded. "Is this one of your Russian buddies?"

"No," Geno said. "He Canadian buddy. Going be homeless soon, and can only afford new place if he give up hockey. You going to make _Canadian_ stop playing _hockey_? Make Mounties cry."

"Where the hell are you meeting homeless Canadian hockey players?" Mark asked. "But, whatever. You guarantee he's not going to smash the place up with wild parties?"

Geno laughed. "I'm not think he ever been to wild party."

"Good. Because you're paying any damages. Sure, give him my number, I'll lie for you and we'll work something out."

* * *

"Wow," Zoe said, as Sid pulled into the building's underground parking lot. "Seriously, _wow_. Are you even allowed to move in yourself? Doesn't the lease demand professional movers?"

"If they ask, you're my mover," Sid said, parking in his assigned spot between a Porsche and a Range Rover. "But nobody objected when I brought my hockey gear over last night. Unless they thought I _was_ the professional mover. Come on, grab some bags and I'll show you the apartment."

He had to enter a security code before the elevator would open, and Zoe laughed as he tried to read it off where he'd scribbled it on his palm. He got it right on the third try, and it wasn't long before he was opening the apartment door and leading the way in.

"Holy _shit_ ," Zoe said, and dropped the bags she was carrying. "You should have started housesitting professionally years ago! How did you get hooked up with this place?"

"A guy I know through hockey," Sid said vaguely.

"I've changed my mind," Zoe said, and flung herself onto the leather couch. "I'm staying in Pittsburgh. And moving in with you, obviously."

"Well, there's a guest room if you do ever need to stay," Sid said.

Zoe sat up. "Has it got an en-suite? Tell me it's got an en-suite."

"Sorry," Sid said. "That's just the master."

Zoe sighed in disappointment. "Then I guess I won't be visiting. I have _standards_ , Sidney."

"Very low ones," Sid says. "Want the tour?"

There aren't that many rooms. It's just that they're all _huge_ , with enormous windows that keep the apartment flooded with natural light. Compared to the old house, where they had to have the lights on at midday because of the poky little windows, it's amazing.

"This _bed_ ," Zoe said, bouncing on the master bedroom's bed. Well, Sid's bed, he supposed. "You need to get a boyfriend so you can have lots of sex on this bed, Sid. _Lots._ "

"Well…" Sid said, and Zoe sat up.

" _Really?_ " she said, grinning. "Oh, my god, good for you! How do you even find time?" She patted the bed. "Sit down and tell me all about him."

"He's a hockey player," Sid said, sitting next to her. "It's kind of how I met him."

"Is he on one of your teams?"

Sid laughed, and shook his head. "No, definitely not. But he's kind, and a bit overwhelmingly generous."

"And hot?"

"Brainmeltingly hot," Sid said, and Zoe grinned.

" _Good_. I'm glad you'll have someone to look after you once I'm gone."

"I don't need looking after!" Sid objected.

"You need someone to remind you there's life outside of hockey and the gym," Zoe said, and nudged him with her shoulder.

Sid ducked his head and laughed. "Yeah, I guess he does that."

Zoe rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you, Sidney."

"I'll miss you, too," Sid said, and rested his head on hers.

* * *

For the first week, Sid enjoyed the peace of living on his own. Everything stayed where he left it; his food didn't vanish from the fridge; the coffee table didn't spontaneously generate a pile of pizza boxes.

And being able to wander around naked was kind of awesome.

But finally it was Tuesday night, he wasn't working, he didn't have practice or a game, and he'd already worked out in the building's gym rather than hauling ass all the way out to his own gym.

He had the Pens game on the TV - playing the Flyers at home, and as brutal as expected - and the room was dark and silent, and he suddenly felt so lonely it hurt.

There were guys he would have invited over if he'd still been in his old place, but asking them here would result in too many questions that he couldn't answer and didn't want to avoid.

He held his phone in his hand for a few minutes and finally, when Geno was in the penalty box, texted, "Want to come over to my place after the game?"

It wasn't until Geno was back on the ice that he texted again. "Stay the night, if you want?"

And then he determinedly turned his phone off, stuck it down the back of the couch, and focused on the game.

* * *

Geno was back in the penalty box when the final whistle blew, and maybe he wouldn't have been able to stop Jágr going round the back of the net and jamming the winning goal past Fleury in the last minute, but he'd never fucking know, and the Pens had lost to the Flyers, at _home_.

He kept his head down as he skated back to the bench, didn't look at anybody as he walked back to the locker room, and just shook his head at Jen as he slumped into his stall. She'd keep the reporters away from him.

He pulled his helmet off, but that was about all he could manage, and he just sat and stared at his skates until Nealsy nudged him.

"What?" Geno snapped.

"Your cheek," Nealsy said.

Geno reached up, touched the spot on his cheekbone that was starting to sting, and his fingers came away red. 

"Better get it stitched up," Nealsy said. "Don't want to be even uglier than you are now."

And being with the doctor would get him even further away from the reporters. Geno heaved himself back to his feet and headed for the doctor's room.

By the time the cut was thoroughly cleaned out and a couple of butterfly stitches applied, the worst of the media crush in the locker room had gone, and Geno was able to strip down and head for the showers without Jen needing to run interference.

He was dressed and heading for his car by the time he turned his phone back on, and settling into the driver's seat by the time it beeped with the texts from Sid.

He stared at his phone for a long moment, then texted back. "want. not good company?"

The reply came almost immediately. "Invitation stands."

"on way," Geno sent back.

He had the entry code for the building, so didn't need to wait for Sid to buzz him in. The elevator took forever, and then the corridor down to Sid's apartment seemed to have stretched to marathon distances, but finally Sid was letting him in, and Geno didn't wait to say hello, just kissed Sid and pushed him back into the apartment, kicked the door shut behind him, kissed Sid again until he was groaning into Sid's mouth, and Sid's arms were tight around his shoulders.

* * *

Sid was just dozing off when Geno said, "One month since I ask you out."

Sid blinked and rolled over a little so his mouth wasn't buried in the pillow. "Shit, am I supposed to have remembered? I suck at anniversaries."

Geno laughed, pressed a kiss to Sid's shoulder. "So… been dating for month."

"Yeah," Sid said, and tried not to grin _too_ idiotically.

"In Russia, one month anniversary means I'm have to call you boyfriend."

"Really?" Sid said, and felt Geno nod.

"Is very important anniversary in Russian culture," he said with overly earnest seriousness. "Most important."

Sid grinned. "Well, I guess if I'm dating a Russian, I'm going to have to embrace the culture. Boyfriend."

"Yes," Geno said, and pulled Sid in close, Sid's back to his chest. "Boyfriend," he said into Sid's hair. "And boyfriends get invited to Christmas skate."

"Christmas skate?" Sid asked, more focused on the feel of Geno's arm solid across his chest and Geno's breath on his skin than the words.

"Pens have Christmas skate for family. And boyfriend is family."

Sid lay still. "Are you sure? I know your team's okay but there'll be more than team there."

"Want you there," Geno said, and there was a long pause before he said, "Sometimes, Mama or Papa here for it. But usually, I'm not have family. And… want."

Sid was glad he couldn't see Geno's face, as he considered it. "You know what I said about rushing?" He felt Geno nod. "Family is rushing."

"So you not come to skate?" Geno said, and he sounded dejected.

"I'll come," Sid said, and wriggled around to face him. "But as boyfriend, not family."

"Okay," Geno said cheerfully, and Sid had a brief suspicion that he'd been played. "But next year you be family."

"Next year," Sid conceded.

* * *

Sid clambered awkwardly out of Geno's car, then just stood there, looking around.

"Is just parking lot," Geno said, and reached into the car to get Sid's skates.

"I know," Sid said, but he kept looking around, and Geno had to nudge him to get him to take his skates.

"Come on," Geno said. "I show you round."

"Yeah," Sid said, but he hung back as they approached the door, and finally said, "If you've changed your mind, that's fine."

"Changed mind?"

"About wanting me here."

Geno just stared at him. "Not change mind. Why?"

Behind Sid, Duper was shepherding his three eldest towards the door while Carole-Lyne got Lola out of the car.

"Because this is-" Sid started to say, but he was interrupted by Zoe tripping over her trailing scarf and landing at Sid's feet. Once Sid had picked her up, dried her tears, and soothed her ruffled feathers, she had taken ownership of him and promptly towed him down the corridor to the locker room.

"Either he's with you, or I've just let a random weirdo take my daughter," Duper said. "Please tell me he's with you."

"Never seen him before," Geno said, but gave in as soon as Duper thumped him in the ribs. "He is Sid. Good guy. Be nice to him."

"If he deserves it," Duper said, and Geno figured that was the best he'd get.

The door to the locker room was propped open, and Sid was unwrapping Zoe from her scarf when they arrived. "Go get your daughter," Geno said. "Stop using my- my Sid as babysitter."

"Your Sid, huh?" Duper said, and his smile was weirdly fond, as he headed off to scoop up Zoe and dangle her upside down to shrieks of glee.

Sid headed over to Geno with a couple of reluctant backwards glances at Zoe. "My stall," Geno said, gesturing to the familiar stall, about a third of the way around the room, Neal on one side and Jordy on the other. There was no sign of either of them yet, so Geno shoved Sid towards Neal's stall. "Get skates on."

Sid let out a breath of laughter as he kicked off his sneakers and started pulling on his skates. "My skates are so _shitty_."

Geno couldn't argue that, so he just said, "And you still best player in league."

Sid just smiled at him, then turned his attention back to his skates.

By the time Geno realised he was staring, Sid had his skates laced up.

"Nice to look at," Geno said, and smiled at the flare of red on Sid's cheeks.

"Get a move on, lazy," Sid said, and Geno did.

They hung back as Craig helped his eldest onto the ice, then Geno stepped out and turned round to watch Sid- Well, watch Sid stop dead apparently. Geno skated back. "What wrong?"

"It's an NHL rink," Sid said, and there was an expression on his face that Geno couldn't quite read. Somewhere between desperate longing and laughing at himself and hoping Geno would understand.

"Today, is family rink," Geno said. "Look." On cue, somebody's daughter skated past, wobbly in new figure skates and a princess dress.

"I know," Sid said, "but still…" But he took the step out onto the ice, pushed off, and glided out to centre ice, where he stopped and looked up at the stands.

Geno watched him and wanted to give him everything. Give him the best skates and gear and time to practice and train and then give him the right to skate out onto this ice in a Penguins jersey.

For now, he just skated after Sid and bumped his shoulder. Sid looked up at him with a smile, then took off across the ice. A moment later, Geno followed.

Nealsy was on the other side of the rink, chatting with a woman Geno didn't recognise, and Geno tugged Sid along to join them. "Sid, this is Lazy. Lazy, Sid. And...?"

"Madison," the woman said. "Ben's sister." 

"Why you talking to Lazy?" Geno asked. "He terrible person."

"Geno!" Nealsy said, and tried to elbow him in the ribs.

"Washes hair once a week," Geno continued, fending off Nealsy's escalating attempts. "Can't make coffee. Needs help to put on shirt."

Madison laughed. 

"And if you talk to him too much, Ben will break him, and then I won't have winger," Geno finished.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't want to be responsible for _that_. See you around, James," Madison said, and skated off.

"I hate you," Nealsy said, and shoved Geno. "I was totally in there."

"And Ben would break you," Geno said.

"I could take him," James said, but he turned his attention to Sid. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," Sid said.

Nealsy frowned. "I know you from somewhere. Where do I know you from?"

"Newspapers," Geno said, because Sid was silent. "Sid star hockey player."

Nealsy looked puzzled. "Where do you play?"

Sid cleared his throat, and said, "Just amateur stuff." Geno didn't think anybody else would notice how panicked Sid sounded. "But my league's had a few meetings here – you must have just seen me around."

"Maybe," Nealsy said, but he didn't seem convinced. "I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else, though."

They were interrupted by Zoe Dupuis wobbling up to them, Carole-Lyne close behind. "Come skate with me," Zoe demanded of Sid, and Geno had never seen Sid look so relieved.

"Zoe!" Carole-Lyne said.

"Pleeeaaaase," Zoe added.

"Do you mind?" Carole-Lyne said. "Maeva and Kody are too fast for her, and I'm dealing with Lola."

"I'd love to," Sid said, and took Zoe's hands just in time to stop her faceplanting. "Ready to go?"

They spent an hour or so towing various small children around until one seven-year-old decided Geno needed to learn figure-skating. "I'm too tired," he told her, when she wanted to teach him a toe-loop. "Need hot chocolate." He glanced over at Sid and grinned. "But Sid want to learn."

When Geno left the ice, Sid was crouched down and paying careful attention to Katy's wobbly demonstration.

Geno helped himself to a cup of coffee in the locker room, and was heading back to the ice when he was intercepted by Brooks and Nealsy.

"I've remembered where I know Sid from," Nealsy said.

"Hockey," Geno said, glaring, but Nealsy ignored him.

"He's a _stripper_ , Geno! And, y'know, well done on getting some of that, but-"

"Shut up, Neal," Brooks interrupted, and Nealsy subsided. Brooks studied Geno for a moment. "Nealsy told me. I wanted to make sure you knew."

"I know," Geno said. "But he's not stripper."

"He is!" Nealsy said. "I've seen him! He does this hockey rout-"

"Not. Stripper." Geno said determinedly. "Is exotic dancer."

"Is there a difference?" Nealsy asked.

"Is there difference between you and drunk hedgehog?" Geno asked.

"Hey!" Nealsy objected, and his hands flew to his hair.

"Fair point, though," Brooks said, grinning. "What _is_ that on your head?"

"Fuck you both," Nealsy said, and he was about to head off when Geno grabbed the back of his neck.

"Tell anyone about Sid," he said seriously, "and you not be on my line again."

Nealsy paused, then said, "Got it."

Brooks watched him go, and said, "So your boyfriend's an exotic dancer."

Geno shrugged. "Not really. Main job is... something to do with steel? And trucks? Maybe? Dances to pay for hockey." He grinned. "Is actually pretty terrible dancer. Only one routine. But great ass, so." He shrugged.

"He any good at hockey?" Brooks asked.

"Brilliant!" Geno said. "He not play as kid, but if he had, would be pro. No doubt." He could tell Brooks didn't believe him, thought he was just blinded by love, so he said. "Should have scrimmage. Then he show you."

Brooks narrowed his eyes. "You know," he said, "that sounds a brilliant idea."

Which was how Geno found himself facing off against Sid.

"I hate your sticks," Sid said, settling into place. "They're too long and stiff."

Geno grinned.

Sid sighed. "And that weird curve is really offputting."

Geno stuck his tongue out, then said, "Should have brought your own."

"I wasn't expecting to play!" Sid said. "'Just Christmas skate, Sid. Just families, Sid.' Liar."

"Stop whining, start playing," Geno said, and nodded to Madison who was acting as linesman.

The puck dropped, and Sid beat Geno to it by a fraction of a second, passed it back to Duper. Duper shot up the ice, and Sid followed, swinging wide to keep himself free. Bylsma was bearing down on Duper, so he passed back to Sid, who put on a burst of speed to get out of Flower's reach, before slotting the puck neatly into the goal over a trainer's borrowed glove.

"Tabarnac!" Flower swore, and looked apologetic as Duper glared at him. "Sorry, children. Do not say what I do." He bumped Geno. "Your fault, anyway, letting him beat you."

"Didn't _let_ him," Geno said, and beamed proudly at Sid, who was in close discussion with Duper, Tony, and somebody's brother.

Sid gave a determined nod and skated back towards Geno. "Ready for the next face-off?" he asked.

It took longer this time, but eventually Duper deked around Flower and shot on goal. It bounced off the goalie's left pad, but Sid was there to pick up the rebound and send it straight through the five-hole, ending the two-goal scrimmage.

Geno swatted Flower round the back of his head. "This why goalie should never play forward," he said.

"Your boyfriend's a ringer," Flower said. "You sneaked him in from the KHL."

And, going by Sid's performance today, Geno had to admit that he wouldn't be entirely out of place in- Well, not the KHL. But there were plenty of pro leagues where he could hold his own.

He looked for Sid to tell him that, but Sid was in conversation with Bylsma, and there were kids wanting to bat a puck around with him. He'd tell Sid later.

They were driving home by the time he said, "You could go pro, you know."

"Hmm?" Sid was staring out of the window, frowning slightly, and blinked as he turned his attention to Geno. "What?"

"You good enough to go pro. Need to work on fitness, strength, but you got, you know, hockey thoughts. See things." Geno shrugged. "Maybe not able to act on them now, but work, you could."

"It's not that easy," Sid said. "I'm on an H1 visa, not a green card. If I signed with a team and it didn't work out, I'd have to go back to Canada." He half-smiled at Geno. "And I've got a few reasons to want to stick around in Pittsburgh."

"Really?" Geno said, and Sid's smile turned teasing.

"For sure. I play on two teams here, you know, and the kids would be upset if I left them without a coach."

"Can't upset kids, true," Geno said, and rested his hand on Sid's thigh.

Sid rested his hand on top of Geno's, and rubbed his thumb over Geno's knuckles. "Let's go back to yours," he said.

And Geno was never going to argue with that.

* * *

Sid was perched on a bar stool in Geno's kitchen, wearing a pair of Geno's sweatpants that pooled around his ankles and tried to trip him when he walked, when he said, "Dan Bylsma thinks I should consider going pro."

Geno nearly dropped his pan. "With Pens?" he said eagerly.

"Oh, god, _no_ ," Sid said. "But he offered to set me up with a try-out for the Nailers."

Geno looked briefly disappointed, but then said, "Soon get call-up from Nailers to Baby Pens, then to Pens. Play on my line."

Sid gave him a hard look. "Be realistic, Geno. I'm twenty-four. I've missed too much development and I'm too old for that. AHL's the absolute highest I can aim for, and it'll take a lot of work for me to get that far. ECHL is probably too high, even."

"You think you say yes?" Geno said.

"I don't know," Sid said. "It's a huge gamble. And I'm not even sure I _want_ to."

Geno stared at him. "Not want to play hockey as job?" he said incredulously.

Sid shrugged. "At the moment, it's something I do for fun. If it becomes my job, that's a lot more pressure, and I don't know if it'll take the fun away."

Geno leaned back against the work surface and stared at Sid. "What happen if you try out, they say, no thank you, Crosby, you suck?"

Sid ducked his head a little and smiled. "Well, assuming the try-out hasn't used up all my vacation days, I go back to work at the mill and carry on playing in the rec leagues."

"What happen if you try out, they say, Crosby, you great, we want sign you?"

"I don't know. What's minimum salary for the ECHL?"

Geno poked at his phone and came back with, "$370 a week."

"Ouch," Sid said.

"Hang on," Geno said, and poked at his phone a bit more. "Also, they cover equipment and expenses. Give you apartment, too."

"Oh, that's a _lot_ more doable," Sid said. "I should be able to save up enough to get me through the off-season, if I can't get any work."

"What happen if you not try out?"

Sid shrugged. "I carry on playing in the rec leagues." He paused and added, "And probably regret not at least giving it a go."

"So, is obvious. You try out. When they want to sign you, you decide. Make them offer big contract."

Sid considered it. "Yeah," he finally said, and grinned at Geno. "I'm going to go for it." He pulled a face. "As long as they're willing to wait until January. I'm out of vacation days."

Geno beamed at him. "My boyfriend, professional hockey player."

"Oh, shut up," Sid said, but he ducked his head and grinned.

* * *

When Geno got home after practice a couple of days later, Sid was waiting, his car parked outside Geno's house. Which would normally be a good thing, but the expression on Sid's face as he got out of his car and slammed the door behind him suggested it wasn't.

"I speak to Kadar today," Geno said.

"That's nice," Sid said, and a muscle jumped in his jaw it was clenched so tight. "I spoke to Mark Letestu today."

"Oh," Geno said, and rubbed his mouth.

"I wanted to give him a heads-up there was a possibility he'd need to find a new house-sitter. I guess he forgot what the story was."

"Sid-" Geno started, but Sid didn't let him say any more.

"I don't _want_ your money, Geno! Maybe I don't earn as much as you, but I can pay my own damn _rent!_ "

"Sid-"

"And you fucking _knew_ I wouldn't want you doing that, or you wouldn't have _lied_ to me!"

"Sid-"

Sid looked sick, as he said, "Fuck, I've just thought – did you ask Bylsma to set me up with the Nailers try-out?"

"No!" Geno said. "I'm not do that – I _promise_."

"How can I believe you?" Sid demanded.

Geno sighed. "Come inside," he said.

For a moment, he thought Sid wasn't going to, but, still scowling, he did.

With the door shut behind them, Geno said, "Lying about apartment was wrong. I'm sorry."

Sid blinked. "Right," he said. "Well, it'll take me time to find somewhere else, but-"

"I'm still pay for apartment," Geno said. "You live there or not, but I'm still pay."

Sid took a deep breath. "I told you, Geno, I don't _want_ you spending your money on me."

"Tough shit," Geno said, and he knew his voice was getting louder but he couldn't stop it. "I got money. I got fucking _lots_ of money, and _I_ want to spend on you!"

"I'm not dating you for your money!"

"But you dating _me_ , and I come with money, so, you know, you got to choose between me with money, or, or, not-me with not-money." Geno had never been so frustrated with his English. "Fuck!" he said, and continued in Russian, voice getting even louder until he was shouting. "I can't pretend I don't have money! I can't see you _needing_ things, and not give them to you! You're skating with ancient, useless gear, and I could buy you good stuff! You're going to be struggling to pay rent on a shit-pit in the sketchiest part of town, where you'll get mugged more often than you don't, and _I want to look after you!_ "

"I don't speak fucking _Russian!_ " Sid yelled back at him. 

"Then fucking learn!" Geno bellowed.

"Why don't you just _pay_ for me to learn?"

"Because that's not why I- FUCK!" If he felt like this on the ice, he could throw in a brutally hard check, maybe drop the gloves and really let it go, but here, all he could do was kick the pile of shoes by the door, send his sneaker flying across to hit the wall. When he looked back at Sid, he was staring at Geno, brow creased like he was trying to work something out.

" _What_ isn't why you keep buying me stuff?" Sid asked, and he wasn't yelling any more.

Geno took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair, and chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to find the words. "I just want you to be safe," he finally said.

Sid carried on staring at him for a long moment, then relaxed so suddenly that Geno could actually see his shoulders drop. "Fuck, Geno," he said softly, and then he was stepping close, wrapping his arms around Geno's waist, and Geno tentatively rested his own arms around Sid.

"I don't want you hurt," Geno said into Sid's hair. "And, you know, money, it can help."

"Just stop _lying_ about it."

"Just let me give you things without having to lie," Geno said.

Sid tensed slightly, but then he relaxed again. "Just... don't try to give me so _much_."

Geno made a frustrated noise. "But it not much to me. It-" Suddenly it hit him, and he grinned. "Percent."

Sid pulled back enough to squint up at Geno. "What?"

"Percent. Say, you paid hundred thousand dollars."

Sid choked slightly. "We're living in very different worlds."

Geno ignored him. "You want to buy me present, spend hundred dollars. I'm paid nine million dollars, so I buy you nine thousand dollar present." He grinned. "Percent."

"Your figures are way off," Sid said, sounding thoughtful, "but the basic idea's sound."

"Because I'm genius," Geno said smugly.

"You're not totally dumb," Sid conceded, one side of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"Genius," Geno insisted, and pulled Sid in close before dropping a loud kiss on the top of his head. "And you stay in apartment, pay me same percent rent I'm pay Mark."

"Until the lease is up," Sid said. "After that, I find my own place."

"Sure," Geno said, and he knew Sid didn't believe a word of it.

* * *

By the time Mike Kadar had finished testing his fitness, Sid was dripping with sweat and about ready to drop. It didn't help that it all came on top of an absolutely shitty day at work.

"Well," Mike said, "you're not at NHL levels. But I think you knew that."

Sid just nodded, still bent over and gulping for breath.

"But you're not as bad as I'd expected. Your stamina's good. Strength – too generalised, rather than being specific to the sport. How long have we got?"

The dates were branded in Sid's mind, a countdown that was simultaneously going too fast and too slow. "One week, four days."

"Not long," Kadar said. "Best bet is to work on building targeted strength, and improving your flexibility to use what strength you've got better." He glanced around the apartment building's gym. "Is this the only equipment you've got to work with?"

Sid had let his membership to the gym by his old house lapse. "Yeah," he said.

"I've seen worse," Kadar said, but he sounded as though he hadn't seen many, and they hadn't been much worse. "We can probably work with what you've got here."

It took another hour for Kadar to talk Sid through an exercise and diet plan.

"I'll check up on you after Christmas," Kadar said, "and we can see how we need to tweak things then." He studied Sid. "We won't be able to get you as fit as the professionals," he said, "not in a week and a half. But stick to what I tell you, and you won't embarrass yourself."

"Thanks," Sid said, trying to fill his voice with just how much he meant that. "It's really good of you to help me out."

"I owed Geno a favour," Kadar said. "This is better than having to be designated driver for the next six months or something. And you're really not as bad as I expected a rec leaguer to be."

"Thanks," Sid said. "I think."

Kadar laughed. "I just meant that you don't have the support structure of the pros, not that you guys don't work hard. In fact – when's your next game?"

"Tomorrow night," Sid said. 

"I'll come along, then I can target your workout even more to your style."

"It's an 11pm start," Sid warned.

"I won't stay the full game, then," Kadar said with a smile. "Just long enough to get some footage."

"It really is good of you," Sid said, but Kadar waved it off.

"A couple of weeks helping you out, or six months driving Geno around. Which would you take?"

"Well," Sid said, "when you put it like that..."

"Speaking of Geno, I'm heading over to his place now. He said your car's in the shop, if you want a ride?"

"If you don't mind hanging around while I shower?" Sid said.

"No problem," Kadar said.

* * *

Sid should have suspected something was up when Kadar phoned Geno to let them know they were five minutes away, but it took seeing Geno waiting under the streetlamp at the corner of his road before it sank in.

"What are you up to?" Sid asked, when Geno opened the car door and practically dragged Sid out.

"Secret surprise," Geno said, almost bouncing with glee. "Shut eyes. Tight shut."

Sid obeyed, but it obviously wasn't enough because Geno promptly covered Sid's eyes with his hands. "This is going to be terrible," Sid said.

"Shush," Geno said, and started guiding Sid down the road. "Best surprise."

It seemed to take forever to walk the short distance to Geno's house, Sid testing every step and half-expecting Geno to steer him straight off the kerb, but finally Geno stopped.

"Keep eyes shut," he said. "Not look yet."

"I'm not looking," Sid said, and he kept not looking, even though it was so, so tempting to open his eyes a _little_ , just to get himself ready for whatever Geno was going to spring on him.

Finally, Geno said, "Look now!" and Sid opened his eyes and-

The first thing he saw was Geno lounging on the hood of a black Honda Civic, the car gleaming under the security lights. The second thing was the giant yellow bow stuck on the Civic's roof.

"Happy early Christmas!" Geno said.

Sid blinked, brain still stuck on the idea that Geno was the present – but then it all shuffled around in his mind, and his voice cracked slightly as he said, "You bought me a _car?_ "

"I'm buy you _sensible_ car!" Geno said, beaming proudly. "I'm buy you sensible, _used_ car. It cost _less_ than percent! I'm very cheap, and boyfriend should dump me for buying crappy present."

"You bought me a _car_ ," Sid repeated, then fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "Shit, I need to call the shop and cancel the work on mine."

"Already done," Geno said.

"Shit," Sid said, staring at the car, and at Geno sprawled on the hood. "I just- _Geno_."

"Is good present, yes?" Geno said anxiously.

" _Best_ present," Sid said. "But you shouldn't have."

"Bullshit," Geno said, bouncing off the car and coming over to Sid. "You need car for driving Wheeling and back a lot, when you come visit me. I'm not want miss visit from you because crappy car break down."

"So it's actually a present for you?" Sid said.

"Yes," Geno said. "Is present for me. So I'm going buy you more presents for Christm-" He stopped at the expression on Sid's face. "But... still not going buy you more presents for Christmas?"

"Well done," Sid said, but he wrapped his arms around Geno anyway. "Thank you," he said quietly. He was thanking Geno as much for sticking to their agreement as for the car, and he was pretty sure Geno knew that.

They stayed like that for a long moment, then Geno pulled back. "You stay night?"

And Sid had work in the morning, a skating lesson with Max Ivanov after that, and somehow had to fit in the workout Kadar had designed. He should really go home, get a good night's sleep, and face tomorrow fresh and well-rested.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm staying the night."

* * *

Sid was supposed to have left for Wheeling by the time Geno got back from Vancouver, so it was a surprise to see his car – and Geno still felt a flush of pride at getting Sid to accept it – sitting in Geno's drive, Sid in the driver's seat.

Geno lowered his window as Sid got out, and anxiously said, "Car break? I drive you. Can still be in time. But I'm buy you _new_ car that not break-"

"I don't think I want to go," Sid interrupted.

Geno stared at him blankly for a long moment. "But- Is _hockey_."

Sid let out a breath of laughter. "Well, yes. But I don't think it's the kind of hockey I want."

"But it's start, you know?" Geno said. "You work up to NHL. Going to take time, but-"

"I don't think I want to play professional hockey."

"I-" Geno started, but stopped. Even in Russian, he didn't know what to say to that.

He was silent for long enough that Sid said, "Can we go inside? It's cold."

"Yes. Yes, go inside, have drink, you tell me."

Geno clattered around his kitchen, getting two mugs of tea ready, while Sid sat at the workbench, staring at his hands. Geno was getting more and more anxious, and by the time he settled Sid's mug in front of him, he was frowning.

"Tell me," he demanded, then took a deep breath. "Sorry. I just. I'm not understand, you know?"

Sid cradled his mug between his hands, but didn't drink from it and didn't look up. "I don't think I want to live like a professional hockey player." He looked up. "Like _you_."

Geno blinked. "But my life is best."

Sid's mouth twitched into a smile. "For you, yes. But we aren't the same. I want-" He frowned at his mug. "I want _stability_. And there isn't any in pro hockey. I wouldn't even know what state I'd be living in next week."

"No trade clause," Geno said.

"Not at my level," Sid said. "Even yours hasn't kicked in yet, and you're the face of the franchise. I'd be scrambling for a contract at the end of every season." He tapped his fingers against his mug. "You know I spent Christmas with Barry and his family."

"You only tell me twenty times," Geno said. "I'm maybe forget."

Sid ducked his head and grinned. "His kids _really_ wanted me to let you know they loved the signed mini sticks, okay? But that's- Look, I was sitting there after dinner, and I had Madison asleep on my lap, and Kendall showing me his presents, and I didn't want to leave. But I had to, because I had to go to the gym."

"This is different year," Geno said. "You trying to _get_ fit, rather than _stay_ fit. Next year, you can skip one day."

Sid shook his head. "No, I can't. Because that could be the difference between me getting a contract next season or not. Between me staying in America or going back to Canada, even." He paused, and the crease between his eyes deepened. "I'm not good with change. I don't like it. And professional hockey is constant change."

Geno sighed, and reached out to rest his hand on Sid's. After a moment, Sid wrapped his fingers around Geno's and squeezed. "I want you to be happy," Geno said carefully. "If pro hockey won't make you happy, then..." He shrugged. 

"Thanks," Sid said softly, and the tension around his eyes faded away just a little.

Geno rubbed his thumb over Sid's knuckles. "You going to just carry on like now?" he asked.

Sid shook his head decisively. "No. I was sitting in your drive trying to work out what I actually _want_ to do, rather than just what I need to do to keep playing. I want to do something with hockey. Something to make it more affordable, especially to kids." He smiled a little ruefully. "I want a job that'll still be here in two years, and that'll pay me enough that I can quit dancing and spend more time with you."

"Good thing to want," Geno said, and squeezed Sid's hand tight enough that it had to hurt, but Sid just squeezed right back.

"I was talking to Jen Bullano at the skate," Sid said. "She said they were thinking of expanding the Little Penguins, but needed the right program co-ordinator." He looked at Geno. "It's my perfect job."

Geno thought about Sid knocking aside all obstacles with the sheer power of his determined earnestness, and smiled. "Yes, perfect job. You going to teach Little Penguins too?"

"Maybe," Sid said. "Maybe get some of you guys involved, too."

"Duper would," Geno said. "And Flower. Don't let Nealsy near kids, though. Bad influence."

"And you?"

Geno grinned. "You could try persuade me."

**Epilogue**

Geno watched from behind the boards as Sid patiently talked a small boy through taking a shot on goal. On the fourth try, the puck got close enough to the net that Flower could make a dramatic save attempt, and subtly – for Flower – knock the puck over the goal line in the process.

"Good shot!" Sid said enthusiastically, and patted the kid's helmet. "Do you want to go and join Kelly's group, and send Florence over?"

The kid skated off, wobbly on new skates, and Geno took advantage of the lull to wave at Sid.

Sid's grin lit up his face as he skated over. "It's not your turn with the kids, and you know it," he said.

"I'm drive past, come in to say hi to my buddy Flower," Geno said. 

"And just happened to have your skates on as you were driving past."

"Skates very good for driving, you know."

Sid laughed, and turned to look out at the kids. "Somewhere in there," he said, "is the thousandth Little Penguin this year."

Geno looked at the quiet pride on Sid's face, and wanted to hug him. He settled for punching his shoulder, instead. "You've done great job," he said. "Ten years, some of these guys maybe playing for big Penguins."

Sid shrugged and didn't look away from the kids. "It'd be great if one of them ended up in the NHL," he said thoughtfully. "But I'd almost prefer it if they only played rec league. Just played because they love the game and it makes them happy."

"Are you happy?" Geno asked.

Sid's smile, when he turned to face Geno, was like a punch in the heart. "Never been happier in my life," he said.


End file.
